The Good Neighbor (8 page)

“Right as rain,” he said, opening the driver’s side door.

“Bravo. The window?”

“Fixed.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” she said.

“I’ll bill you.” He tipped his hat at me. “Good afternoon, ma’am.”

“Thank you,” I said.

He nodded and climbed into the truck. Eris and I watched as he backed out of the driveway and drove away.

Eris strode up to me, her heels clicking on the concrete. “How are you today? Did you go back to Sitka Lane?”

“I did. It was
. . .
difficult. I thought I would be able to salvage more of our belongings, but
. . .
”

“I’m so sorry,” Eris said, her eyes full of sympathy.

“It’s weird to know our home is open to the world. There’s no front door. If there’s anything left in that rubble, a thief could pick it up.”

“That reminds me, I’ll have Todd change the locks as well. He shouldn’t have his own key to the cottage, but he’s reliable, and the place was empty for so long—”

“I understand. I don’t want to put you out.”

“This is entirely my fault. We’re still on for dinner? No need to bring anything.”

“We both go to bed early—”

“I’m not surprised. I saw your husband out jogging at the crack of dawn when I was out for my hike. I didn’t know he and Theresa knew each other. They were deep in conversation.”

“Maybe he does,” I said. I looked through the trees toward the A-frame house. I began to wonder exactly
how
Johnny knew Theresa. But why should I wonder? He knew so many people in Shadow Cove.

Eris followed my gaze. “You’ll enjoy meeting her husband. Kadin is quite a handsome man.”

“I’m sure he is. But, I’ve already got a handsome man of my own.”

“Of course you do. Nobody could hold a candle to your husband, right?” She winked at me.

“Nobody in my universe,” I said.

“But that Kadin
. . .
Ah well, he’s taken, and I’m in a relationship.” Eris sighed, glanced at her gold watch, then grinned at me. “Gotta run. Monthly meeting of the County Realtors Association. Dinner at my place at seven?”

“Thank you,” I said, watching the A-frame again as Eris hurried back to her SUV and drove away.

CHAPTER TWELVE

At seven o’clock that evening, Johnny stood next to me on Eris Coghlan’s front porch, still in his blue suit. Tucked under his arm: a bottle of expensive Chardonnay. After I’d picked him up from work, he’d taken so long to choose the right vintage at the wine shop, he’d barely had time to straighten his hair in the cottage. He’d glanced at the photo I’d found, but he couldn’t remember who the woman was or where they had been.

I’d jokingly called him a player, unable to keep track of his dozens of past girlfriends.
I’m not like your father,
he’d said for the millionth time. He’d taken me in his arms, and we’d said no more about it.

Now, as we waited for Eris to answer the door, I could almost believe our lives were normal, that we were on one of our casual social outings. I’d donned dark jeans, a brown knit sweater, and Rockports. Everything new, except the gold necklace I’d found in the rubble, which I wore beneath the sweater, where nobody could see it—a reminder of my past life.

“Wish I’d had time to change,” Johnny said, looking down at his suit.

“You went on an epic quest for the world’s best Chardonnay.” I slipped my hand into his.

“A joint quest with the world’s most beautiful woman.” He gazed down at me with that charming grin.

“You know the right things to say.” I smiled at his words, although I was sure, with the stitches in my forehead, that I resembled a female version of Frankenstein’s monster. At least the scar sat up near the hairline.

The door swung open, revealing Eris in a little black dress and heels. The fabric shone like freshly spun silk. She had the athletic build of a woman who worked out diligently, the muscles delineated on her arms. Suddenly, I felt horribly underdressed, frumpy, and out of shape. But I had nothing fancy to wear.

Eris broke into a warm smile and ushered us inside. The decorative wainscoting, high ceilings, and intricately carved crown moldings nearly made me gasp in admiration. I felt instantly homesick. “I’m so glad you could make it,” Eris said, closing the door after us. The mouthwatering scents of garlic and onion wafted through the air, reminding me that I was famished.

A soft Brandenburg concerto drifted from another room. Eris looked at my shoes. “I’m a fan of Rockports. I’m a big sweater person, too.”

I smiled, feeling a little more comfortable. “I’m slowly rebuilding my wardrobe.”

“You’re ahead of the game.” She turned her smile to Johnny. “Wine! You shouldn’t have.”

He handed her the bottle. “Woodward Canyon, 2009, best Washington State Chardonnay ever.”

“You didn’t need to bring anything, but it’s much appreciated.”

Johnny flashed his disarming smile. “Least we could do.”

“Dinner is a little late,” she went on, as Johnny and I removed our shoes. “The lasagna needs a few more minutes. I got held up showing a spectacular home in Port Blakely, designed by Theo LaRoche.”

Johnny’s brows rose. “LaRoche. Talented guy.”

“You’ve heard of him. I’m impressed.”

I wasn’t familiar with Theo LaRoche. Now I felt frumpy and uninformed, as well.

Eris tucked her hair behind her ear, revealing a teardrop pearl earring. “The house is right off Rockaway, stunning views of Blakely Harbor. Modern architecture. Big windows. Pennsylvania blue stone—”

“I love Pennsylvania blue,” Johnny said.

“You do?” I said. This was news to me.

“Always have.” His gaze remained focused on Eris.

All right, no problem. A wife could always learn something new about her husband, couldn’t she?

“This one’s going to go fast,” Eris said. “I know of many other listings that might interest you.”

“We plan to rebuild our house,” I said.

Eris grinned at me. “Give me a chance. That’s all I’m asking.”

“No harm in looking,” Johnny said. “Is there?” He squeezed my arm.

“All right, maybe a look,” I said. It couldn’t hurt, could it? I had dared to imagine Mia moving in with us. Maybe the little girl would do better away from reminders of her parents. No, that was a crazy thought. Mia belonged with her grandmother.

“Good, then. We’ll make a date.” Eris steered us into a spacious living room in which the Minkowskis already sat—Theresa, her fecund beauty filling the room, and her husband, who resembled a young Harrison Ford. They both stood, wineglasses in hand. Theresa wore a hip-hugging turquoise dress, her husband a pale green button-down shirt and black slacks. I was the only casually dressed person in the room.

“Kadin Minkowski,” the man said, reaching out to shake Johnny’s hand. “You’ve met Theresa.”

Johnny smiled. “She came by the cottage. I’m Johnny McDonald, and this is my wife, Sarah.”

“Pleasure.” Kadin shook my hand next, his grip strong, on the edge of painful. Then he let go and stepped back, wrapping his arm around his wife’s waist. “I was supposed to be out of town, but my meeting in LA was canceled at the last minute. Glad I have the chance to meet you instead.”

I nodded and smiled. “So are we.”

“Nice knowing the cottage is occupied,” Theresa said. “We finally have neighbors.”

Eris clapped her hands and said, “Well, now you’re all better acquainted. Sarah and Johnny, raspberry wine?”

We both nodded, and she disappeared down the hall.

Theresa and Kadin sat next to each other on the only couch, more akin to a loveseat. Theresa sat at the edge. Johnny and I chose separate armchairs across from them. The room was furnished with heavy antique tables, bookshelves packed with old hardcovers, a crystal chandelier, Tiffany-style floor lamps.

Eris returned with two wineglasses for us. She sat in a high-backed Victorian armchair. “Johnny is a dermatologist, and Sarah writes children’s books. Kadin is an investment manager, and Theresa is in restoration. Did I miss anyone?”

“Restoration?” Johnny said, looking at Theresa. “What’s your specialty?”

Theresa crossed and uncrossed her shapely legs. “Fine arts. I’m restoring a Turkish decanter. The spout broke off. Now it’s almost as good as new. You can’t see the seams.”

Johnny smiled appreciatively. “You perform magic.”

She laughed. “We can’t fix everything.”

“Who can? It’s hard when we’re expected to perform miracles.” Johnny and Theresa traded a look, some unspoken message passing between them.

“Readers expect perfection, as well,” I said.

“You’re writing a book, then?” Kadin said with interest.

“I’m supposed to be writing, yes, but it’s a little difficult right now—”

“Did you always know?” Theresa cut in. “That you wanted to be a writer, I mean? Some people start writing when they’re older, after they retire or raise their kids.”

“I loved writing as a child, yes,” I said. “But I didn’t return to it until much later. I got a degree in psychology, thought I would go into research, but I became a reporter for the campus newspaper. I interviewed a cartoonist—and he reminded me of how much I’d loved writing when I was young.”

“So you returned to it,” Theresa said, smiling warmly. “How wonderful.”

“Our son likes to write,” Kadin said.

“Kadin Junior,” Theresa said. “He just turned eight. He plays and runs like other kids, but the writing thing
. . .
We can’t stop him. He uses his little computer, taps away—”

“He’ll be a famous author someday,” Kadin said, as if such a thing were easy to do. “He’s got the keyboard fingers.”

“And white patches on his arms,” Theresa said, looking at Johnny. Here it came, the casting of a line to reel in free medical advice. “Any idea what that might be?”

Only I could detect the tightening of Johnny’s fingers on the wineglass. “Hard to say without seeing him,” he said. “Could be eczema or a superficial yeast infection.”

“A yeast infection!” Kadin said. “I thought only women got yeast infections.”

Theresa gave him a scolding look. “Kadin.”

“Sorry. Couldn’t help it.”

“Could be psoriasis, vitiligo
. . . 
,” Johnny went on.

“You mean what Michael Jackson had?” Kadin said.

“It’s uncommon,” Johnny said. “I would have to see your son. We can try to fit you in this week.”

“He’s the
best
,” Eris cut in. “A miracle worker.”

Johnny blushed. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“He cured
me
.” Eris pointed to her cheek.

Theresa leaned in and squinted at Eris’s cheek. “Cured you of what?”

“Exactly. It’s gone,” Eris said triumphantly.

Theresa sat back. “What was it? A minuscule pimple?”

“Melanoma,” she said.

I remained quiet, a bit shell-shocked. Johnny had not told me that he already knew Eris, as well. I thought he’d met her through Maude.

Theresa gasped. “You had
skin cancer
?”

Eris touched her nose lightly. “Also here. My internist, who shall not be named, gave me a death sentence. He said I had six months to live.”

“Six
months
?” Theresa’s voice rose. “I had no idea.”

Eris patted her arm. “Now you know. Dr. McDonald cured me. So far, no recurrence. We’ve had a couple of follow-ups.”

Johnny fell silent, looking into his wine. He wouldn’t divulge any privileged information about a patient, even if she revealed the information herself. But he could have told
me
. I was his wife, after all, and didn’t husbands share secrets with their wives?

Theresa gave him an open look of admiration. “I’m glad to know a medical magician lives so close.” She leaned forward to put her glass on the table, revealing ample cleavage.

Johnny smiled. “We can’t fix everyone.”

“Touché,” Theresa said.

Tears came to Eris’s eyes. “You gave me a whole new lease on life. The least I could do to return the favor is give you a place to live for as long as you need it.”

It dawned on me then that Eris was not charging rent for the cottage. She meant to be generous, but I couldn’t help feeling like an outsider, and I didn’t want pity or charity.

When Eris called us all into the grand dining room for dinner, I barely tasted the spinach lasagna, despite my hunger. I wanted to run back to the cottage and hide. The laughter grated on me, the conversation trivial. Halfway through the meal, the doorbell rang, a melodic
ding-dong
reverberating through the house.

Eris dabbed at her mouth with a cloth napkin, slid her chair back, and stood. “Excuse me. I don’t know who that could be this late.”

Her pumps tapped the floor as she left the room. Everyone fell into uncomfortable silence as her voice drifted in, the rumble of a lower, male voice, then Eris’s surprised laughter. “You’re in luck! She’s here. Come on in.”

Eris returned to the dining room with a man in tow—bearded and slightly plump, he appeared to be in his thirties, in a yellow button-down shirt and blue jeans. Stitched into the shirt pocket was a badge reading
Harborside Florist.
He held a crumpled invoice in his hand. He looked a bit bewildered as he took in the dinner party, the well-dressed guests (all except me), the elaborate meal.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said, clearing his throat. “Delivery for Theresa Minkowski?” He looked at me.

“Not me,” I said, smiling.

Theresa put her fork on her plate and looked up at him. “That’s me. I’m Theresa.” She glanced sidelong at Kadin. He betrayed no emotion.

The deliveryman shifted his gaze to Theresa. “I had the wrong address. Looks like a seven at the end. Should’ve been a one. I drove all around looking for two twenty-seven.”

“We’re two twenty-one,” Theresa said.

The man sighed with visible relief. “I’ll be right in with your delivery. I’m running late today. Looks like the order was placed this—”

“Please do bring them in,” Eris said, sweeping her arms around the room expansively. “We’re all curious.”

The man returned a minute later carrying a spectacular, living turquoise hydrangea plant in a red ceramic pot. A small envelope was attached to a stick, propped in the soil.